


SPARK.

by EnvyBakemono



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, Miscarriage, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnvyBakemono/pseuds/EnvyBakemono
Summary: Izumi Curtis doesn't talk about her childhood, or what happened on Yock Island ten years ago - but when her child comes back for her, the past becomes just as vivid as the present. Complete. (Great thanks to avaritiabonaest/afgunst and sparklekinkz for being my betas!)





	1. PROLOGOS

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third-wave fic for the FMA Fandom Challenge! Inspired by the fantastic artwork of Nerieners.  
> TW for the story as a whole: physical and emotional abuse, miscarriage/child death.  
> TW for this chapter: blood, miscarriage/child death.

            At first, she thinks she’s seeing things when the blood starts pouring down her legs. _Surely there’s some mistake,_ she thinks, because this isn’t how it was supposed to go, and then the floor slips out from underneath her, faces of her customers blurring and disappearing.

            Arms catch her, strong and sinewy. Of course Sig caught her. He’s been there every time she’s fallen. _This isn’t the way this story goes._ The blackness rises and swallows her, but she can still feel herself drifting in the dark, the small little heartbeat in her stomach beating, beating and fading away.

            _Come back,_ she cries out. _Come back._

~

            The little boy in front of her looks so much like her it makes her heart want to rip itself apart. _I know what you are,_ she thinks of shouting. She could throw something at him. She could tell him to go back to where he came from.

            The moment he begins to cry, all those thoughts disappear. _He’s only scared,_ she realizes, and even though she knows it’s all her fault, that she can only make things worse, her feet take her forward anyway. She pushes Edward aside, and the little boy clings to her like he’s drowning.

            She doesn’t know what to do. She never got to have a child. Is this what they do? Is this how they look at you – like goddesses?

            “It’s okay, little one,” she whispers. “I’ll take care of you.”

~

            It’s not the waking after her miscarriage she remembers first, but the rough hands pulling her upwards and away from the transmutation circle etched in the soil, ruined now by the rain. “The Master was right,” growls the voice, and Izumi can’t help but wonder if she knows it. It almost sounds familiar – almost.

            “Come on.” She’s too tired to open her eyes, but she lets the stranger slip her arms around his neck. She tries to rise from the ground – and the jagged, cruel pain in her stomach forces her back to the earth. She coughs, horribly, sickly, and her mouth is filled with coppery-tasting blood.

            “You really fucked up, didn’t you, lady?” He laughs, and Izumi wants to hit him, hurt him, for laughing at her pain. But the urge disappears when instead of dragging her up to her feet again, the stranger kneels and takes her into his arms, one under her legs, one supporting her back. “Idiot,” he whispers, but there’s a sadness to it.

            Izumi doesn’t quite pass out again. Every time she closes her eyes, the Gate looms in front of her. So instead, she fixes her eyes on the stranger’s smooth black clothing and the green tendrils falling down over his shoulder, and tries not to think about what price she paid.


	2. STROPHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death/miscarriage, food, emotional abuse implied

 

            She doesn’t remember her baby being born. It’s probably for the best – seeing him afterwards is bad enough, his tiny hands curled up so tightly against his chest, his face blue and the mark of the umbilical cord still around his neck. He never got to draw a breath.

            She cradles her baby in her arms anyway, as if perhaps she can put the warmth back into him. The doctor tries to pull him away from her – she only holds her child more tightly. She can feel Sig’s hand on her shoulder, but he’s not trying to convince her. He gives the doctor a glare, and the doctor backs away, keeping a respectful distance.

            There’s a creak as Sig kneels down next to her. He doesn’t say anything – he’s a man of few words anyway, and what words could possibly help.

            “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she’s not sure which of them she’s talking to. Her husband, tall and warm and solid and real; or the little ghost in her arms with closed eyes and empty veins. Then, finally, she begins to cry, her sobs silent as she presses her lips to her son’s forehead.

~

            She’s already getting used to having him around, and she can’t help but smile as the hungry child tucks away more food than she thinks could _possibly_ fit in his tiny frame. The stray thought appears – _he takes after his father –_ and she doesn’t push it away, but lets it sit in her heart, lets it whispers its pretty little lies to her.

            It comes so naturally. Brushing the crumbs of food off of his mouth, slapping his hand when he tries to steal more – all of it just happens, like it was preordained, like he was just the missing piece in the puzzle.

            She picks him up and takes him into the spare room. His arms loop around her neck like a noose, and when she puts him down, she has to unhook them from her head, even though he’s half-asleep already. “Time for sleep, little one.” She kisses her forehead, and she loves him, oh she loves him with an empty, yawning, aching kind of love, the kind of love when she knows all too well what comes next. _God give me the ability to stop time,_ she asks, even though God abandoned her a long, long time ago. _I know I’ve asked for so much already. But let me stop time and stay here, just a little bit longer._

~

            She wakes up, aching and alone, and there’s silk shimmering above her. It doesn’t take her long to realize it’s a canopy – she’s woken up in enough strange places over the years, and often the confusion of first waking up is something she can’t afford.

            But there’s only one place on Yock Island she could be, and it’s not an answer she likes.

            “Good morning,” comes the voice she expected. Izumi struggles upright, clutches her abdomen and falls back onto the pillows, biting her lip to stop the scream that wants to emerge from her mouth. She wants to ask why she hurts, why everything between her stomach and her knees is a burning mess, but she knows why. Childbirth isn’t easy, even when your baby -

“Please stop trying to move,” Dante chides, taking a sip of tea and giving her student what Izumi realizes was an attempt at a comforting smile. “You’ve…damaged yourself. Quite badly.” She inclined her head towards the bedside table, where sits a matching cup of tea, steam rising from the black liquid.

            Izumi almost reaches for it. Then she remembers all the things that grow in Dante’s garden. “I was outside.”

            “Yes, and you still would be if my servant hadn’t found you.”

            “Servant?”

            Dante chuckles quietly, and takes another gentle sip of tea. “I had to work something out after you left, didn’t I?”

            If she’d been less tired, Izumi knows she could have mustered a response to Dante’s usual jab. Instead, she stares at the floral design on the wallpaper. She remembers it from last time. But she’s never been this helpless in front of her teacher before.

            Dante sits quietly and waits for… something. Izumi doesn’t know what. An admission of guilt? A thank you? Growing up with the woman hasn’t made her any easier to read.

            The steam slowly stops rising from the cup by her side, and eventually, Dante rises, groaning a little as there’s a distinct ‘crack’ from her knees. “Get some more sleep,” she murmurs, something mimicking concern in her voice. “You’ll need it, child.”

            “I’m not a child anymore.”

            Dante smiles, and even though Izumi knows it’s condescension, even though she _knows_ her teacher is a selfish, stubborn woman, it almost seems real. “You’re still a child to me, my dear. Now sleep, and have some of that tea. It’ll help with the pain.” Then she’s gone, only the click of the door behind her and the cup of tea remaining as proof that she was ever there.

            Izumi takes a deep breath, clutches at the pain nestled deep inside her stomach, then reaches for the tea. Nightshade or not, it’s something.

 


	3. ANTISTROPHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: dead bodies, child death, blood, violence, psychological/emotional abuse

            “ _Give him back!_ ”

            Sig is holding her back, and she doesn’t understand _why,_ can’t he _see,_ why won’t he let go of her –

            “Give him _back_ to me!” She wrenches her arm out of Sig’s grip, and reaches for the tiny corpse that the doctor is taking _away_ he can’t _do_ that that’s her _baby, her baby needs her –_

“Mrs. Curtis, please calm down –“

            “Calm down? _Calm down?_ ”

            The doctor opens his mouth to say something else. For a moment, Izumi’s grief becomes anger, becomes fury, becomes _rage,_ and she closes his lying, thieving mouth with a fist. Now her baby is back in her arms where he belongs, and he’s still not breathing, but she can _fix_ that, she knows _how –_

“Izumi, please,” comes Sig’s quiet voice.

            “Leave me alone!” She can barely see him through the tears coming down her face, and she wants to apologize, but her mind won’t stop, and she can see the circle in her head already, she just needs _space. Give me time,_ she wants to cry to him. _I can fix this. I can fix this._

But she can’t look at him. She can’t endure another look of quiet disappointment or grief. She can’t endure one more reminder of how fucking _worthless_ she is as a mother, as a wife, as a woman. _My body killed my baby._

So instead of letting him hold her, she turns away, tucks her baby into the folds of her sweater and she runs.

~

            And now she watches them take her baby from her again ( _he’s not your child, he’s not your baby,_ but she can only lie to herself so much and pretend that it’s not what she sees every time he smiles) and that same anger and fury is bubbling up in her chest.

            Sig is beside her. He doesn’t try to stop her. He knows better than that. But he also knows better than to go with her, because she is ready to tear apart the whole pathetic _world_ to protect her child. So he does what he’s always done – he steps back, and waits for her to come back so that he can put all her broken pieces back together.

            She takes his hand and presses it to her cheek. “I love you,” she says, and then she disappears into South Headquarters, and inside her head the mantra plays. _I’m not failing you. Not one more time._

Except the truth is festering inside her, in the space where her organs were ripped away. She’s not done betraying her flesh and blood. Not yet.

~

            She wakes in the canopied bed again, to another presence – not Dante this time. She turns her head, and there’s a figure leaning slightly over her, hands on his hips and long hair almost touching her stomach.

            “Who are you?” she rasps, although she already knows – it’s the person who carried her here.

            The figure grins, sharp teeth flashing. “None of your fucking business.” He sits down at the end of the bed, resting on his elbows and giving her a searching look. “I thought you’d be in _much_ worse shape. Guess the old bitch knows what she’s doing.”

            “Don’t talk about Dante that way,” Izumi tries to say, but halfway through the sentence, a cough rips out of her throat, and she tries to cover her mouth, pain burning in her chest and stomach – _what did she give me what did I drink –_

Her vision goes black, then clears, and the first thing she sees is the blood on her arm and the white sheets below. It’s dark crimson, streaked with black, and Izumi knows how bad that is, even without the way her head is pitching and rolling…

            There’s a creak as the stranger lifts himself off the bed, and he lifts a handkerchief to her face, grabbing her chin as he starts wiping the blood from her mouth. “I get to talk about her any way I want.”

            “Don’t _touch me_!” She tears his arm away, wiping her mouth on her arm instead and swallowing over and over again, trying to get the awful coppery taste out of her throat.

            “Ugh. Don’t be stubborn. Would you rather I’d left you out there to die instead of _touching_ you?”

            Izumi pauses, and stares at the blood on her hand, slowly dripping from her palm onto the white sheets. She doesn’t have an answer. Just more questions, endless questions. “What – happened to me?”

            The change in the stranger’s attitude is palpable, eyes narrowing and pupils dilating. “What _happened?_ ” he seethes. Then, dropping the handkerchief, he leans over her, face too close to hers, voice low and threatening. “You decided you were fucking _God,_ is what you did. And you don’t even – fucking – remember?”

            _Of course I remember,_ she almost screams. _It doesn’t mean I understand._ And her memories are chaotic, unhinged, without continuity – how is she supposed to make sense of them like this?

            “Well?” he snaps. Barely a second later, he growls. “I didn’t fucking think so.” He seems ready to walk away – and then suddenly, his  hand slams against the headboard next to her ear, and if Izumi could _move_ she would be fighting him and she would _win,_ but like this – like this –

            “ _Envy!_ ”

            The stranger’s head turns, and they rise up, backing off from her at the sharp command. “Master,” they reply sulkily. “You’re early.”

            Dante sets the new pot of tea to the side. “Go do something useful,” she snaps in her cold voice.

            Envy mutters something under their breath, then starts making their way out of the room. Before they leave, though, they give Izumi a dark glance, and a shudder runs down her spine.

            Dante looks down at the blood on Izumi, and shakes her head. “Apparently the tea isn’t helping as much as I thought it would –“

            _“What did you give me?_ ”

            Dante pauses, then that same condescending, affectionate look crosses her face again. “I’m not trying to poison you, my dear.”

            And now Izumi is shaking, because that’s right, she was heaving up blood right after the transmutation, right after she first saw the Gate, and – “What happened?” she asks again. “I don’t – don’t understand –“

            “Patience, patience,” Dante says soothingly, but Izumi knows that tone and it’s not one she trusts –

            “ _What did it take from me?”_

Dante sighs and reaches forward, pushing a braid away from Izumi’s face. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of you.”

            Izumi can’t trust her. She wants to. She wants, so desperately, to believe Dante’s words. But the past is powerful and she can’t unlearn the truth of Dante’s kindness or unsay all the bitter words she’d parted with. “I appreciate it. But I should go home. Sig –“

            “Yes, of course.” Dante’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly in Izumi’s hair, light pressure starting to pull at her scalp. “Sigmund will be worried.” Dante released her grip, and turned away, walking out of the door.

            Izumi tried not to hear the clicking of the lock. She was an alchemist – it wasn’t like locks or walls meant anything to her – but she couldn’t help but remember all the times she’d heard it before. When she was locked in her room, that meant she’d been bad. It meant she needed to learn better.

              _Mother knows best._


	4. EPOIDOS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: deep water, dead bodies, blood, physical and emotional abuse/humiliation, misogyny both internalized and outward.

The water laps at her feet, and for a moment, Izumi debates taking one step further in, maybe another and another – until the water is above her head and she won’t have to think about anything anymore.

            Instead, without really knowing why she doesn’t just abandon hope now, she tucks her baby into the crook of her arm, and pushes the boat out into the water with the other. Then, once the water’s up past her thighs, she jumps into the boat, shivering a little as her waterlogged dress clings to her legs.

            _Why Yock Island?_ says the cold and rational part of her brain. Izumi ignores it, as well as the creeping sense that even after three years away from home she’s –

            It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t _matter –_ all that matters now is keeping her baby safe.

            She leans forward and gently places his body on the other seat of the boat, then draws a circle on either side of him, raising the wood just enough to keep him steady. Then she closes her hands onto the oars, biting her tongue to keep her concentration, and begins to row out into the lake.

            “It’ll be okay,” she says and fakes a smile at the baby boy who still, _still_ isn’t breathing. “I promise.”

            His perfect, blue face stares back at her.

            “Ethan.” The name bursts out of her mouth. She and Sig had spent months arguing over baby names – hers were always too strange, his too prosaic –

            Their daughter would have been Emily. Their son was Ethan.

            _Is,_ she forced herself to think. _He’s right there, he’s right in front of me –_

“Ethan,” she said again, and a desperate laugh bubbled out from her lips, growing louder and louder until it suddenly and gradually and painstakingly turned into tears. The oars slipped from her hands, catching on the metal fasteners on the sides of the boat, and she cradled her face in her palms, trying to keep the sobs in her lungs, trying to save whatever breath she had to give back to her son.

~

            Her hands stray over his back as he clings to her, and she tries to ignore the lines that have already appeared on his skin. “Changing already…” Her boy is being stolen from her, right under her nose. The memory swims up in her mind of the cruel laugh, the sharp teeth, the red lines on white skin –

            She pushes the memory away. She _knows_ what it means – she doesn’t need to be reminded of what Ethan will inevitably become. She knows what must happen next, but she pulls him into her arms, wipes a stray tear from his cheek, and begins her getaway.

            She pauses in front of the room he’d fled from. King Bradley’s corpse is the centerpiece, but the blood is everywhere, painting the walls and the floor a garish red, and the open wound in the center of his chest draws her eye more than it should. The country’s leader, now nothing more than a pile of torn flesh.

            Izumi tears herself away, picking Ethan up in her arms and fleeing the scene of her crime. Hers – it’s true, because this is her fault, all of it.

            She can fix it. Not the first of her sins – the sin of not being good enough, of having a body that was poison, blood that couldn’t nourish her baby – but the rest that followed, she can take it all back.

            Ethan falls asleep in her arms, the tenseness of his terror and fear leaving his bones. She tries to rub the blood from his hands, but instead it leaves dark red streaks on her dress.

She can’t erase what he is. She can’t erase who he is. And these two things cannot exist together, cannot both be true. A problem with no solution. A cry without end. An endlessly-spinning circle.

“I love you,” she whispers, and no matter what else happens, this will always be true.

 

~

            Even if the door hadn’t been locked, even if Dante hadn’t so quietly and confidently assumed her maternal right of command, moving was hardly more than a dream. Moving her legs is about all she can manage, but sitting up is still beyond her.

            Izumi doesn’t believe that anything is impossible. But the second she tries to sit up and lever herself off the bed, she blacks out, and the next moment she’s staring at the bed which is sideways in front of her, and she’s on the ground again.

            “You dumb -!” The frustrated insult sounds more worried than she expected. She tries to raise her head to look at him, but even that hurts to do. Instead, Envy appears over her, hair hanging over his shoulder. “What did you go and do _that_ for?”

            Izumi ignores him, trying once more to lever herself up, but before she can get far, Envy’s arms snake around her and pull her into the air. She’s dropped unceremoniously on the bed, and can’t help the cry of pain.

            “Suck it up. It’s your own fault anyway. Stop trying to _move._ ”

            Izumi glares at him, but he just shrugs and laughs. “Look, if you got a death wish – which you _clearly_ do – that’s fine, but Dante wants you alive.”

            She gathers up her courage, whatever there is left of it – and spits in his face. She sits back and stonily waits for his response.

            Instead of violence, however, Envy simply wipes it from his face, never breaking eye contact with her. “Feisty,” he comments lightly. “You realize I’m not _completely_ above killing you and facing the music for it afterwards, right?”

            “I had a feeling.”

            He grins. “Typical. Enjoying your deep, regretful depression? You’re certainly lounging in it.”

            The words hit her like a bucket of ice water. “ _Lounging?_ ” Her fist flew up, but he scoffed and pushed it back down.

            “Don’t. I’ll win,” he said matter-of-factly. Izumi didn’t feel like testing that, not when she was still coughing up blood every fifteen minutes and her legs felt like sewn-on scarecrow limbs. “And besides…I’m not _wrong,_ am I?”

            He wasn’t. But – “I lost my _child._ I have a right.”

            “Oh yes?” He leaned in. He didn’t seem to have much respect for personal space – that, or he could see exactly how much it unnerved her. “You get to lounge about in regret and denial, yeah? Maybe you shouldn’t have tortured your baby to begin with.”

            Time stops, and the words spin and spin and spin, making more sense every time she hears them – _tortured your baby tortured your baby you killed your baby and then you brought him back just to kill him again –_

            -and she lifts her other hand, the one he’s not pinning down, and punches him square in the face. She almost expected nothing to happen, but instead he goes down like a ton of bricks, a surprised squawk the last thing she hears over the blood rushing in her ears.

            - _tortured your baby-_

She doesn’t even think about what she’s doing – she claps her hands together and grabs the bedpost, and before she can even process anything, she’s holding a cane, and levering herself out of the bed and going for the door. Envy growls behind her, hands slamming against the hardwood as he levers himself up, and her hands connect again and press against the door. It seals itself against the wall like it was never there, and then she’s gone, trying to remember the way out. All the little secret ways she used to use.

            “Izumi!”

            She tries to force herself not to hear it, but her body disobeys her, remembering years of that tone of voice, what it meant to have her mother call her in quite that way –

            She turns to face her. It’s too much like looking into a mirror – Dante is leaning on a cane as well, and her eyes are sparking just as brightly as Izumi’s own. _I have my mother’s temper,_ Izumi realizes with a sudden dropping in her chest.

            “Izumi Mitsue, get back in bed. _Now._ ”

            “Why?” It springs from her mouth without thinking. _This is the new me,_ comes a voice as if from far away. _No more hiding. No more running._ The spark is burning in her chest, years of silent resentment. _I tried to be a mother and you never showed me how._

“You’re missing half of your organs, you spiteful child. Did you think I was keeping you on bed rest for fun?” Again, that concern that Izumi’s never heard before, that she didn’t think Dante was capable of, stronger than she could ever have imagined. Dante’s eyes aren’t just sparking, they’re flaming.

            “Blame your servant. He’s got a talent for making people want to get away from him as fast as possible.”

            Dante sighs. She makes the same gesture that Izumi thoughtlessly performed – hands touching like a call to prayer – and releases Envy from the room. He dusts himself off, hiding whatever embarrassment he might feel under an uncaring mask. Izumi doesn’t believe it for a second. “You’ll have to forgive Envy. He’s not fond of alchemists.”

            “You can say that again,” he grumbles. A tingle of nerves runs down Izumi’s spine. He doesn’t sound embarrassed. He sounds… scared.

            “Envy. Apologize to Izumi.”

            His cheeks flush at that. “Yeah, I don’t fuckin’ think so.” He starts to stride away, but Dante puts her hands together, taps her foot against the floor – and red lightning shoots across the hardwood, catching him by the heels. He falls to the floor, muscles spasming. A drop of blood, red as rubies, collects on his bottom lip.

            Izumi can’t stop watching. She knows he can’t _bear_ it, to have her eyes on him, but she can’t look away. And she recognizes it – not the torture itself – but the agonizing destruction of his pride.

            His fingers dig into the hardwood floor, leaving inhuman marks behind. “Fuck off,” he manages to spit, then collapses with another cry.

            “Stop!”

            And horrifyingly enough, Dante simply looks up at her, and her eyes are dead and cold, and she answers with a question of her own – “Why? He knows better.”

            “I –“ comes the hoarse voice from beside her. “I’m sorry.” There’s no sincerity to it, and Envy spits out another mouthful of blood, wiping his mouth with a pale, stick-thin arm. “That good enough for you?”

            Izumi nods even though it wasn’t meant for her, and unsure what else to do, offers her hand to help him get up. He takes it, not meeting her eyes, and for a moment, she thinks he might hear what she’s trying to say – _I’ve been where you are, I’m sorry, I know, I understand –_ but instead, he jerks her down and whispers, “Try to intervene for me again, and the Gate will look like a fucking _pleasure ride_ once I’m done with you.”

            Then he’s gone, and whatever hope Izumi had left that Dante has her best interests at heart, or that she’s found some unlikely ally, crumbles into ash and smoke.


	5. CATHARSIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: emotional/psychological abuse, blood, child death, distorted thinking, violence, mild body horror, nonconsensual medical practices

The circle of stone predates her childhood here by several hundred years, but Izumi remembers it as a safe haven. It’s easier to deal with being ignored when the only ones ignoring your presence are the sparrows and foxes, calling out to each other about everything possible except the little human girl sitting in their midst.

            Izumi can’t help but smile for a moment, remembering the first time she ran away. She survived for two days that time until her mother found her, and the sting of the slap was worth it because she knew for the first time that she could exist outside of the mansion, outside of Dante’s watchful eye. The second time, she’d managed for a week, coping with her first period on her own with nothing but an anatomy book and a few scraps of fabric. She’d thought she’d be scared, but instead she’d examined her own body with fascination, wondering how a baby would nestle inside her, wondering how there could possibly be _room_ in her tummy for a real live human.

            Izumi pulls Ethan closer to her. He’s so cold, and it’s hard to imagine that less than 24 hours earlier, he was drenched in warm blood, born out of her own heat and fire. Her little spark.

            The theory had been taking shape in her head on the way over. Her mind had divided itself with cool efficiency – _this_ part for her grief, the part of her that wanted to wail and claw at her face, and _this_ part for the fixing, for the solution. _I’m thinking straight. I’m coherent._ She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince.

            She lays Ethan down in the center of the stone circle, then starts drawing the circle, a small little thing that stays within the confine of the perfect, smooth centerpiece. No cracks or lines encroaching.

            “Perfect,” she breathes, and for a moment, she’s not looking at her baby at all – she’s looking at the lines and how they dance with each other, and –

            - _my baby-_

-she lets out one last shuddering gasp, and the first drops of rain start to fall as she presses her trembling hands to the circle.

~

            Now it’s the same stone circle in the ground, and ten years have passed, and her hands are still trembling, and her baby is here once more, but he’s staring at her with a look between confusion and betrayal as her hands lock around his neck and – stop.

            “Well? Get it over with!”

            She flinches, because that’s not _his_ voice, it’s too rough and raw and cruel – _he’s changed already –_ but her hands fall to her lap anyway. “I’m…” She chokes, and a sob shakes her shoulders, because she’s _weak,_ she’s weak and stupid and careless and this is all her fault –

            “What are _you_ crying over?”

 _Please don’t talk to me like that,_ she wants to say. _Please, just look into me, look at my heart, look at how it hurts me to have to do this –_

“Getting rid of me was easy enough the _first_ time.”

She chokes again, arms squeezing her shoulders to try keep herself together, the bitter taste in her mouth more than she can bear. “I’m – I’m so sorry, please, _please forgive me –_ “

“Do you have any idea how _dark_ it was in there? How _cold?_ ”

She wants to scream. She can’t look at his face. But his hand finds her hair and pulls and now she has no choice – she sees the purple of his eyes, such a change from that perfect blue, and she can’t stop _crying,_ because she can see it. The cold. The dark. The endless void.

“You abandoned me to _that!_ ” The hatred twists his face, ages him ten, twenty, thirty, a hundred years. He’s so small, so fragile, but his teeth grit and cut like razor blades, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth where he’s bitten through flesh. “You didn’t _want_ me! So stop putting it off and get it – over – with!”

_You don’t mean it, please, please don’t make me kill you –_

“Why didn’t you just let me _stay dead?_ ”

“Be-because…” She takes a shaking breath, and another sob cuts her off. She can’t – stop – _crying –_ “I was selfish,” she manages to force out. “I was _selfish_ and I wanted you _back._ ”

“You wanted _him_ back,” her boy says instead, and for the first time, Izumi looks at him and doesn’t see Ethan. Instead there’s a scared, angry child she doesn’t know, and even though there’s traces of Sig in his face and Izumi recognizes his stance from the mirror, she can’t recognize _him._ “You wanted your baby and you got a monster, right?”

 _No,_ she wants to say, but it’s a lie, it’s a lie and she’s become her mother after all, and she was supposed to be better than this –

His hands close around her neck this time, and the last thing she hears before everything turns into buzzing is, “Say hi to Ethan for me.”

~

She pretends not to see him lurking in the corner, and instead, stares out the window, finding the small dip in the trees where her safe haven lies. It’s not the gem it was. She’s ruined it, spoiled the magic with her stupidity.

It’s almost an hour later – or something like that – when he finally speaks. “You grew up with her.”

“Yeah,” Izumi whispers.

“How’d you get out?”

She laughs at that even though she knows she shouldn’t, even though she’s seen his pride in action. “I wouldn’t say I got out. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Envy laughs as well, and it wasn’t what she was expecting. He almost sounds normal, instead of sniggering at some private joke. “Yeah, well, so am I.”

She wants to ask who he is. She wants to ask him, _are you my brother, or my cousin, are you family –_ but it doesn’t matter, does it? They’re family in the important way, even though he hates her, holds her responsible for some slight she still can’t quite put her finger on. They’ve both been ground down to nothing and built from the ground up. “I got married.”

“Whew. Did it work?”

“Until now, yes.”

“Do you love him?”

The question takes her by surprise. But she smiles, and looks over at Envy, his crossed arms, his avoidant gaze, the way he’s hiding behind his curtain of hair. “Yes. I do.”

“How do you know that? You just married him to get out of here, right?” There’s a sharpness to his voice again, but the edge is blunted by the curiosity of his tone.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t know I needed to leave until I met him. She sent me into town to buy meat and he asked me what my name was.” Her smile grows. “There was a mugger – Sig saw the guy following me, and was about to step in. Then I took care of it.” Every time Sig brings it up, he calls it the moment he fell in love with her.

_Sig._

She needs to go home.

“Dante didn’t even come to my wedding. As far as Sig’s concerned, we’re teacher and student. As far as _anybody_ is concerned.”

“Consider it a step up. I’m her _servant,”_ Envy spits, and Izumi grabs onto the words, tries to understand them. But it’s different words that come to mind. “She… said I was…”

“Missing half your organs?” Envy chuckles, but it’s dark again, that little bit vengeful. “Yep. Most of your intestines, a good chunk of stomach, even half your liver. Oh, and your womb. There’s a reason we’ve been feeding you nothing but liquid.”

A lump rises in her throat. “My…my womb?”

“The Gate has a sense of humour. _I’m_ certainly laughing.”

He’s trying too hard to be cruel, too on the nose, but it hits home anyway. “You mean – I –“

She’d imagined a lovely, big family. Ethan and Emily and Iris – and more, always more –

Envy shrugs, and for a second, actually looks sympathetic. “You fucked around with things you didn’t understand. There’s always a price for stuff like that.” He cocks his head. “She must like you, though. She doesn’t usually put this much effort into fixing other people’s mistakes.”

“She’s…fixing you?”

“The tea’s for the pain and to knock you out. She works on you while you’re asleep.”

“And she didn’t _tell me?_ ”

Envy rolls his eyes at that. “This is Dante. She doesn’t want you running off again. She wants you right here where she can keep an eye on you.”

“Well, I won’t put up with it.”

“Sure you won’t.” It sounds sarcastic, but he continues and she’s suddenly less sure. “She’s done most of it. You can eat solids. You’ll cough up blood once in a while, and I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that your life expectancy, well,” He swooped his hand downwards. “Splat.”

“Very dramatic.”

“ _Point_ being,” he continued, still not quite looking at her, “get the fuck outta here before I shove you out the window.”

She doesn’t move right away. “Aren’t you supposed to stop me?”

“I’m not doing a damn thing.” He shrugs and gives her a cocky grin. “ _I’m_ not her lapdog.”

Izumi pulls the covers off, and uses the bedpost to rise shakily to her feet. “You’re just doing this to annoy her, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Will you care if I die in the woods?”

“Not in the slightest.” His grin fades. “Before you go.”

“What?”

“What did you do with it?” His eyes fix onto hers, intense and purple and riveting.

She shakes her head. _It._ The word hurts her, forces her to acknowledge the truth. “I –“ _I am brave. I am not a little girl anymore. I ran away from home and I’m doing it again._ “I sent it back to the Gate.”

The change in his expression is like a stroke of lightning, like she blinked and somebody else is standing in front of her. “Leave. Now.”

So she does. She uses her new talent to climb down the wall from the second storey, still full of questions that she suspects will never have answers. Above her, she can hear Envy’s fury, splintering wood and plaster and echoing out into the air.

The window is still wide open. She’s still the only one who leaves.


	6. EXODUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood

It takes her hours to reach the mainland, partially because she keeps stopping, trying to decide what to say, trying to figure out how Sig must be feeling. It’s been a week – more than – does he think she’s dead? Does he believe that she’s left him, run off and abandoned him?

_Sig wouldn’t think that._

(It doesn’t help that every time she moves, she finds herself retching up another bright spot of blood.)

And then – then – she’s standing in front of her own front door, and it’s only been a week but she feels like a stranger again, a child who has run away from home –

-and then even before she can knock or let herself in, the door opens, and Sig is there. “Izumi.”

_He hates me. He hates me –_

His arms wrap around her, strong and tender at once. “I was so worried. Are you alright?”

She’s strong. She’s not a little girl anymore. But still, the tears start pouring down her cheeks, and her legs go weak. She loves him, and no matter what else happens, this will always be true.

Sig catches her.

Of course.

He’s there every time she falls.

“Welcome home, my love.”

 

END

 


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